


then the signal split in two

by neville



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Everyone is Trans, Exasperated Bruce Banner, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kobayashi Maru, Kree (Marvel), Kree Invasion, M/M, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Non-Binary Bucky Barnes, Platonic Relationships, Skrull(s), Trans Bruce Banner, Trans Miles Morales, Trans Shuri, bruce trying to keep his shit together but on a spaceship this time, gotta combine those special interests, it's a star trek au!, mention of comics characters, sort of a retelling of the first reboot trek movie but not quite, sort-of established relationships, they're all here - Freeform, this is a clusterfuck of marvel characters from all over the shop, thor and bruce are heavy in love, thor keeps doing dangerous things and giving bruce heart attacks, trans people succeeding in space. fuck yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neville/pseuds/neville
Summary: Thor convinces Bruce to help him cheat at the Kobayashi Maru. Several years later, they're on a spaceship together, trying to save the world.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Thor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	then the signal split in two

**Author's Note:**

> kjsflk so this fic is probably a bit of a mess but i really wanted to write it and i feel like it shouldn't sit unloved in my docs forever ! i hope u guys enjoy it. it was a blast to write. i love gays in space!

No one sees me when I'm right here waiting  
They don't mind that I'm here, I hear  
Throw the big weight of your mind against it  
I would keep you here, but I can't

...

Yeah, I won't get lost inside it all, you're on my way  
Well, I can see it, the darkness covering my mind  
Well, we can hear the voices war inside, yeah  
They won't get lost inside it all  
You're on my way

 _—Red Eyes,_ The War on Drugs

Bruce realises with abject horror that he recognises the commanding officer, because he slept with him at the Academy, and has never once forgotten about it. He doesn’t know how he _could_ forget about it: turning into the next room over and seeing Thor for the first time, presence electric, angelic, the only thing anyone could look at; even through his drunken haze, Bruce can so clearly remember seeing him for the first time, his blond hair tumbling down past his shoulders, his grin lighting up the entire room. Bruce still doesn’t know why it was him that Thor put an arm around the waist of: and the rest of it is something of a haze, after - the ice cream shop, the pizza that Bruce found half-eaten in the fridge the next morning, the feeling of Thor’s hands on his bare hips and Thor’s lips on his. He remembers the reverent way Thor had looked at him, the way his hands had glided over Bruce’s skin, finding all of the sensitive places. It also manages to be one of the few sexual encounters Bruce has had the time for here. The other was with the ChEng, whose feelings on the whole matter Bruce is lucky enough to know. 

> (“This isn’t about you,” Rhodey had said, “but I am _so_ never doing that again.”)

“Captain,” he says awkwardly. He can’t tell if Thor recognises him, and a large part of him is still flushing over the incredible arrangement of Thor’s braids. Long hair isn’t against protocol, but it’s generally considered an inconvenience, so most people tie it into ponytails or buns: but Thor’s braids are different sizes and designs, one pinned to his head while several others hang free. Bruce tries not to reverse engineer the braiding techniques. 

He starts to think that Thor hasn’t recognised him when Thor steps forward and leans in to his ear. Bruce’s heartbeat does a double take. “Bruce,” he says. “If I wanted to, say, rig the test so that it could become a winnable scenario…” 

“Seriously?” Bruce asks, stepping back and frowning. There isn’t anyone else in the medical bay to overhear, anyway. “You know this test is _about_ being a no-win scenario, right? Don’t you remember when Tony Stark hacked the system to drop the enemy shields and got in deep shit? I really don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“The test is about original thinking,” Thor says. “I don’t understand how you’re supposed to display original thinking when there’s no way to win.”

“It’s not about original thinking,” Bruce argues. “I just told you.” 

“Come on,” Thor insists. “You know how this works. We’re all going to die, the whole ship blows up, and we don’t save anybody. What’s the point of that? Why don’t we just - make it _interesting_?” 

“Rhodey said no, didn’t he,” Bruce says flatly. 

“Of course he did,” Thor says. “He called me an idiot.” 

“He wouldn’t be entirely wrong,” Bruce says, trying to hold in a pout. “Okay. You know what? Fine. But when we get in trouble, it’s your fault. There’s nothing for me to do in this simulation except tell you the medbay capacity and then die, anyway.” 

Thor grins, and Bruce is reminded why he’d live for it. “Good boy,” he says, leaning forward to chastely kiss Bruce’s forehead. “I don’t really care how you do it, since whatever you think up will probably be good. Just keep me in the loop. I’ll go stir a mutiny for time.” 

“Isn’t that mutiny going to be against you?” Bruce asks as he follows Thor through the twisting corridors of the ship, listening to the hums and groans of the ship in his feet. The films had made him think that they would be largely quiet save for the beeping of the computers and alarms, but like planes, there’s the constant sound of engineering around him. Most of the officers bring earplugs for sleeping. 

“Oh, sure,” Thor says. “That’s the fun part.” 

“Rhodey’s right,” Bruce says. “You _are_ an idiot.” He splits from Thor as they reach the command deck, sliding into one of the empty computer chairs and trying not to attract too much attention from the Communications Officer next to him. Natasha, he thinks her name is. She has a serious stare. She looks like she’d report him. Actually, she’d be very sane to report him. He’s careful to slow down his typing, usually so rapid that he trips up over his own fingers; his hands sing a careful song of the buttons and switches as he mentally works through what kind of things he _can_ do. The easiest would be to disable the enemy shields, but there’s nothing creative about that. It doesn’t show skill, or even original thought. 

There’s the sensation of a presence behind him, and then the air shifts and Rhodey is at his side. Bruce imagined that he wouldn’t be able to keep his nose out of it for long. “What are you thinking of doing?” Rhodey asks in Bruce’s ear. He can hear threats of overthrowing Thor begin to grow in the background, and under them, Thor laughing heartily. 

“Because there’s a whole Skrull _fleet_ out there,” Bruce says slowly, trying to think at the same time as talk. It makes his head hurt. “There are large areas where their shields overlap. Which you would think would double their effectiveness, but actually it–”

“Reduces it,” Rhodey nods. “We go to the same school, Bruce.” 

“Now if I could trick the computer into overestimating the amount of damage done in those areas, that could work,” Bruce muses. “It’s not actually known how much the effectiveness of the Skrull shields is reduced because we can’t exactly test their ships under lab conditions, so it’s maybe not _too_ far-fetched to take it down…” 

“I was thinking of programming the civilian cruiser with its own weapons,” Rhodey says, “but I like your idea better.” 

“Seriously?” Bruce frowns at Rhodey, who laughs and shakes his head. 

He starts as he realises that the Communications Officer has rolled her chair up to them. She’s clearly been listening to them the entire time, but short of trying to stun her (which is very unethical), there’s not much Bruce could’ve done. But instead of chewing either of them out, she says, “or you could get the computer to fight itself.” 

“Easier way,” Rhodey says. “Get the Skrulls to attack each other. _Or_ rig the computer so that the Skrulls think one or more of their own ships are Kree, and attack them.” He sucks his teeth. “Or if you wanted to be _really_ extra, we could try more than one.” 

“They might commend us for managing to pull off more than one,” Bruce says thoughtfully. “Or, who am I kidding, they’ll commend Thor. But… _someone_ might notice.” He glances behind him, and gauges from the reaction of the rest of the crew that he’s going to need to make a decision. “Okay, you get the Skrulls to attack each other, and I’m going to see if I can work on the shields.” 

“Got it,” Rhodey says, and makes a timely disappearance just as Thor does the opposite. He puts a warm hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Unfortunately,” he says, “we are about to head into the Neutral Zone, so whatever genius plan you’ve come up with, you’d better do it quick, because I have to smile and wave.” 

“Smile and wave as we try to rescue a civilian cruiser from a fleet of Skrull ships?” Bruce quips. Thor laughs, and claps him on the shoulder before excusing himself. Now that Bruce knows that Natasha is with them, however, he doesn’t have to hide what he’s doing: in the distance, Thor is also helping by making a deeply elaborate scene out of going forth. Bruce works quickly. He’s not inexperienced, having taken several computing classes alongside his medicine work, so it takes only a little bit of thought and problem solving to push through and past the computer. Bruce’s maths isn’t shoddy, either, instead sharp with dose calculations. He’s done by the time the first ship opens fire. 

“The shields won’t hold much of this, Captain,” the helmsman warns. Bruce is sure he knows the person’s name, but it isn’t coming to mind. 

“It’s fine,” Thor says. “Keep firing back. We have to protect the civilians.” He glances at Bruce for a second, and Bruce doesn’t know if he should smile or not. He’s waiting to see if Rhodey’s plan will work, and waiting to see if he’s rigged the computer enough to double their damage. It’s not immediately obvious. He wrings his hands. 

He supposes that it _would_ be interesting to see how Thor would react to the test going the way that it should, but–

“Captain, it appears that one of the Skrull vessels is actually Kree,” Natasha pipes up. Bruce hides his grin behind his hand. Of _course_ Rhodey did it; he shouldn’t ever have been in any doubt. Rhodey is nothing short of a genius. “They’re now firing on each other. We’re taking reduced damage.” 

Thor chuckles, a deep sound that makes the hairs on Bruce’s arms rise. “Useful for us,” he says. “Continue our fire. We cannot compromise our ship. We need to get the civilians home safely.” 

“Aye aye, sir,” the helmsman says. Really, Bruce _should_ know their name. It’s going to bother him. They’re frowning lightly as the ship keeps moving forward, and Bruce can’t tell if it’s because of the fighting or if it’s because they’ve noticed something’s fishy about the entire situation. Though cheating is common in this particular scenario, not all cadets are okay with it. Some of them actually _absorb_ the values instilled in them. “Sir, it seems that the ships are taking more damage than predicted. We might be able to wipe out the fleet.”

Thor raises his eyebrows and shoots a glance at Bruce. “That can only be a good thing, can’t it, Lieutenant Barnes?” 

Barnes thinks on this, and then smiles with a hint of amusement down at the panel. “I suppose so, sir. Thanks to your quick thinking.” 

Somewhere between Bruce and Rhodey, the rest of the mission goes off without a hitch: they wipe out the Skrull fleet and rescue all four hundred evacuees from the civilian vessel. Bruce thinks he was supposed to be on standby in the med bay, but seeing as there are no real civilians for him to check over, nobody seems to pay his presence any mind. Save for Thor, who is still riding on the high of his triumphant and congratulatory speech. Normally, Bruce would be downright pissed at anyone else taking the credit for his hard work, but Thor slings an arm around his waist and any discontent he might’ve been feeling is gone. 

“What would you say to a little thank-you?” Thor whispers huskily in his ear. Bruce thanks the constellations in the sky that they wear long sleeves as the hair on his arms stands up. 

“I’d say you should buy me a drink first,” Bruce says, and to Thor’s gentlemanly credit, he does. He grins across their table in the bar and calls Bruce a genius even when Bruce insists that he isn’t. When they leave, he runs his hand through Bruce’s hair, fingers deep in his curls, and Bruce leans into the touch. 

Tomorrow is probably going to be full of trouble. 

So, he supposes, he might as well enjoy the rest of today. 

They go to Thor’s room: it’s always tidier than Bruce expects, though Thor has a tendency to keep things in odd places. He also has efficient systems for retrieval – pull a wire above his desk and it’ll deliver a cold beer, for example. There are probably better ones, though Bruce isn’t exactly given the time for a room tour: Thor pushes him onto the bed and grinds against him, breath already ragged from the making out. Bruce scrabbles to take his clothes off, pausing a moment when it comes to his binder. He didn’t take it off the last time, and usually considers what’s beneath _his own business_ as he counts down the days until his surgery date. But… 

It’s entirely illogical, and probably downright _stupid_ , but he has a gut feeling that Thor is a good person. A cheat, yes, and an arrogant prick, too, but – fundamentally _good_. 

“Help me take this off?” he says, and Thor nods, hooking his fingers under the taut fabric and easing it up and over Bruce’s head and then through his arms. Bruce feels exposed, but also he doesn’t feel bad about it, which is what he’d half been expecting. He swallows. 

“God,” Thor says, “you are so _fucking_ beautiful,” and then he’s kissing Bruce like Bruce is oxygen and they’re a quickfire heat of clothes coming off and pelvises grinding, messy but determined. “You tell me what I can and can’t touch, okay?” 

Well, _that’s_ sexy. Bruce almost hurts down below from his need. “You can touch everything,” he assures Thor, one hand stroking Thor’s cheek, transfixed. “I want you to.” 

“I want you to feel good,” Thor says, catching him in another kiss as his hand roams. He finds Bruce’s breast and squeezes it, running a thumb over the nipple and finding himself rewarded with a hum in Bruce’s throat. He replaces his hand with his mouth, and Bruce shudders with the sparks of enjoyment, dipping a hand down to rub himself. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“Yeah,” Thor laughs, watching Bruce writhe, unable to keep still. His other hand tweaks Bruce’s other nipple, but occasionally ventures slow trails across Bruce’s torso, and just the feeling of being touched so softly like that drives him a little bit wild. What can he say? He likes a bit of romance. 

He lets out a soft moan as he finds the right spot on himself. “Finger me,” he says. “Please. Oh my _God_.” 

Thor lifts Bruce’s legs up, stroking the inside of his thighs for a moment – long enough to find a little electric spot there – before dipping his head and pushing his tongue inside of Bruce. Bruce gasps and arches a little from the bed. He says several expletives at once that come out in a frankly pornographic noise. Bruce keeps rubbing, applying a little extra pressure on the good spot. Thor licks into him, and then moves back and replaces his tongue with a finger. 

Bruce swears. Loudly. 

“Is that good?” Thor asks with a laugh, and Bruce makes a noise that he’ll take for a yes, because he begins to slide it in and out before adding another when it feels wet enough. Bruce can feel himself literally dripping already, and doesn’t know how he hasn’t already come. Maybe he’s holding back for–

Oh, fuck, he held back for that third finger and now it’s inside of him and he can’t see straight between his hand and Thor’s, arching uncontrollably as he comes in a massive wave that Thor won’t even let him ride through before he’s all inside Bruce. Bruce curses him out, if the words even come out, incoherent as he is: it doesn’t take him long, especially when Thor finds his clit, to come again, overwhelmed with fullness and pleasure. He drops like a stone onto the bed and watches lazily as Thor finishes himself off, looking no less pleased. 

“You’re just the worst,” Bruce says with a smile, and draws him in for another kiss. He has something of that post-orgasm clarity, and is using it to feel somewhat guilty about being so easily drawn in. But not _that_ guilty, not really – he doesn’t do this often, if at all ever outside of these two encounters with Thor. His eyelids feel heavy, and Thor is already nestled in beside him. “I gotta call my roommate.” 

“Don’t go,” Thor whines, draping an arm over Bruce’s chest. “Come on. We can hug.” 

“Don’t say anything inappropriate,” Bruce warns him as he taps the contact on his watch, the only item of clothing to survive. His rooming situation is actually something of an unusual one: he lives with the youngest recruit, the fifteen-year-old Shuri, largely because he’s one of the few cadets who fits in the intersection of being both trans and capable of parenting a teenager as well as following the academy’s rigid study schedules. They get along well, and are perfect candidates to bounce each other’s thoughts off of. And, of course, she has no fear to call things what they are. 

“Oh my God, you dirty slut,” she says, ignoring Bruce’s light admonishment of _language_. “You’re with that captain guy, aren’t you? Is this how he got you to beat the test for him?”

“I resent that,” Thor murmurs. 

“I bested the test because he asked me politely and nobody really likes watching their certain doom unfold anyway,” Bruce says plainly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t eat the last egg.” 

“Can I throw a party?”

“If you clean up,” Bruce says, and hangs up, settling back into Thor’s radiant warmth. He knows he’s going to have to get up again soon and go to the bathroom, and maybe he’ll steal something from Thor’s fridge on the way back, but right now it’s nice to just… _be_. He doesn’t get a lot of that. 

And then Thor ruins it by saying “you have such impressive chest hair,” and Bruce bursts out laughing. 

  
  


**several years later**

If Bruce weren’t so scientifically-minded, he might go so far as to say that Starfleet is cursed. Because _of course_ when the Kree declare war on the Skrulls and Skrullos send a distress signal, the _entire_ main fleet is away. Bruce couldn’t make this kind of thing up, and he barely even has time to pack his things as he joins the cadet fleet. Seeing as this is his last year at the Academy, it’s been announced that his survival of the ordeal will automatically allow his graduation, his exam results be damned. No exam result means more than demonstrating capability on an active Starfleet vessel. 

Shuri will be on another ship to him. She’s been assigned as the Chief Engineer on the USS _Kirby_ ; Bruce is on the USS _Statesman_ , whose crew is alarmingly similar to that of their _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation. Bruce is surprised that their cheating managed to get them this far, considering they all got marks on their records for it (the simulation programmer, the nine-year-old and fearless Lunella Lafayette, had _not_ been pleased), but he supposes that their stunt _did_ show the ability to cooperate well. Even if it meant completely ignoring the point of the simulation to feel better. 

“I know you’re kind of boring,” she says. “But I really hope you don’t die.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Bruce says, giving her a short hug. “I really hope you don’t die, too. But I’m sure you won’t. You’re the smartest woman in space.” 

“Bruce,” Shuri says, clicking her tongue. “Don’t insult Lunella like that.” 

And then he’s off, finding his bunk aboard the chaos inside the _Statesman_. Because he has the luck (or not) of being Chief Medical Officer, he gets an entire room to himself, one he uses to quickly change into his uniform. The announcement was so quick that he didn’t even have the grace of time to change out of his button-down. There are spares in the wardrobe of his room, but he’s brought his own uniform, too; unlike his colleagues, who wear long sleeves, Bruce’s are short. He doesn’t actually know why, specifically, though he can only assume it’s because it’s easier to clean blood and guts from his arms than from fabric. 

“Who’s the captain of this ship?” he asks the person he recognises as the Chief Engineer: Quentin Beck, one of his classmates years ago in programming. His hair is longer than when Bruce remembers him, slicked back. “I didn’t hear when they were announcing the assignments.” 

“I don’t know,” Beck says, adjusting the sleeves of his uniform. “I don’t think they announced it. Which can’t be good. I don’t even know if they have enough senior officers to cover us all.” 

“I guess we’ll find out on the deck,” Bruce says. Beck nods. 

“It’d be nice to find out anything,” he says. 

The ship is humongous in size, but in the hangar, surrounded by others, it was hard to get a sense of scale – on it, though, Bruce is surprised by quite how much space there is in the ship. It’s a wonder that they can be in orbit for any length of time at all without immediately burning through the fuel; and this is something he would know and understand if he had followed his life’s planned trajectory of being in engineering himself, but… 

When it came down to it, Bruce had made the choice his heart called for. He’d made it for himself, and not for other people – well, it _was_ for other people, medicine is always for other people, but the choice to break away and enter that field in the first place was Bruce’s. 

The doors slide open and he steps out onto the deck. This is nothing like the simulation; the charge of energy in the air confirms it as _real_. The ship sings with the hum of the engines and the tweets of various pieces of machinery; other officers are talking to each other, preparing for the journey – and for most of them, it’s their first. It’s not Beck’s first. 

Beck has his thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe this,” he says. Bruce is about to ask what’s wrong, and then he spies the figure in the captain’s chair, spinning around to greet them. It’s a figure that he knows all too well, and Bruce lets out a long sigh as he registers Thor’s presence. “Of all the fucking cadets…” 

“Please tell me you’ve stolen that chair,” Bruce says, stepping forward. Thor is grinning at him, eyes mischievous. But if Bruce isn’t mistaken– there’s something of a ferocity to them, too. Captain’s instinct: charismatic but fierce. 

“It’s rude to insult your captain,” Thor says, but he shakes his head and laughs. “I’m warming the seat for Captain Wilson. He’ll be arriving last minute, so I’m in charge until then. Is there something you need to tell me?” 

Bruce blinks. Even though he’d been filled with horror at the idea of Thor being at the helm of any major vessel like this, he also finds himself somewhat disappointed that he isn’t. Instead, he decides to smile back. “Just that you should enjoy your time in that chair,” he says. “It suits you.” 

“Thank you,” Thor says. “I am. It’s very elevated.” 

Bruce finds himself short of words, then, so excuses himself to go and stock-check the med bay as quickly as he can. He doesn’t know Captain Wilson, whoever he may be, and wonders what it’ll be like serving on an actual ship. It’s definitely something of a baptism of fire, and he wishes that he hadn’t been put so quickly in charge. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to be responsible for this many people – do they deserve better, he wonders? What if he dooms people, or the ship? 

“Wow, I can actually see you overthinking from over here,” Thor’s voice says from the door, and Bruce starts, turning to face him. He must be doing the rounds of the ship before their departure, because he has a tablet in his hand and Bruce can see the ship layout open on it. It’s a shame. Bruce can’t even delude himself that Thor has come just for him. “Are you doing okay? I’m sure we can find some other medic to do this if you need to sit down.”

“No,” Bruce insists. “I’m supposed to be in charge here. I have to be better than that.” 

“Hm,” Thor says, and steps into the med bay. It’s equipped with several sensors that work simply by walking past them, and all of them give off healthy readings. Heart rate is faster than Bruce would expect for a healthy guy, but resting heart rates can fluctuate even among the fit. “Don’t work yourself too hard. Who’s going to look after you when _you’re_ sick?” 

“We have a whole med bay of staff,” Bruce says, and then realises that the question was rhetorical as Thor puts a hand on his shoulder. Bruce resists the urge to combust or sink into the floor. 

“Take care of yourself,” Thor reminds him. 

Bruce finishes the stock check twenty minutes later, and when he returns to deck, Thor is standing beside the captain’s chair. It’s occupied by someone else. Thor is tying his stray hair back as he listens, curving it out of his face. The hum of the engines that vibrates through the floor amplifies as they ready themselves to head into orbit. Bruce takes a few steps forward, risking a glimpse at the new captain. 

It’s not what he’s expecting. Bruce had kind of been expecting someone grey-haired and wise-looking, but the ship’s captain seems young, and his whole face - no, _head_ \- is covered in scarring. Bruce can’t even guess what would cause that kind of large-scale scar tissue, but decides that it isn’t his place to ruminate. It’s none of his business. He seems twitchy, and there’s an excited glint in his eye as he presses the switch to broadcast his voice to the whole ship. 

“Well hello there, all you cool cats and kittens,” he says. His voice is high-pitched and Canadian. “This is your captain speaking. My name is Wade Wilson and you better buckle up because I am here to take you all on some kind of definitely life-threatening adventure that will involve alarms, interpersonal drama, and hopefully a little bit of snogging, since apparently there’s literally no other kind of Starfleet mission. We’re about to drop into Skrullos airspace - or should that be planetspace? Galaxyspace? - so get ready for the inevitable, I don’t know, death and destruction or being shot at. Bon voyage!” 

Bruce stares at Thor. Thor shrugs and grins. This is not the reaction he was looking for, so he meets the science officer’s wide eyes that mirror his own shock. Natasha mouths “he’s great” to Bruce as she glances over her shoulder. 

Captain Wilson switches off the intercom and shakes down his shoulders. “That was fun,” he says. “I love motivational speeches. Barnes, my little _choufleur_ , can we get to warp speed?” 

Barnes, professional and cool as a cucumber (Bruce shudders; is he taking on Wilson’s manner of speech already?), pushes the lever in front of them, slowly. The ship falters, following this up with an odd noise. Bruce can almost see the layer of sweat form on Bucky’s face. They swallow. “Uh,” they say. 

“Did you leave the brakes on?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Barnes says. Captain Wilson laughs. 

“Oh, _you_ ,” he says. “But come on. Let’s get going! No fun without us, right?”

Bruce could almost be forgiven for forgetting that they’re heading to save a planet involved in an intergalactic war that’s sent out a distress signal. Captain Wilson is practically wriggling in his chair. “Okay, I don’t know your name, you little cutie, but Mr. Navigator, do you think you could do a shipwide announcement of the mission? Pretty please?” The navigator turns round, and Bruce is startled by how young he looks – which is saying something, since Bruce is barely out of his own spring chicken phase. Wilson echoes the sentiment. “Oh, wow. Is this ship full of actual children? Honestly, _look_ at all of you. This is like a season of _Teen Klingon_ if everybody had been played by age appropriate actors.” 

“It’s, um, Parker,” the navigator says awkwardly. He turns back around, tapping a button on his desk. His voice sounds like it could crack at any minute. Bruce starts to wonder if sending all-cadet crews out is just a death sentence for them. “Mission report. Our orders are to investigate seismic disturbances around the planet Skrullos, which we believe may be a part of the Kree war strategy, and to help evacuate the planet if necessary. Starfleet is a neutral entity in this war and no violence should be undertaken toward either side unless prompted or in retaliation. We are here to help.” He taps the button again and looks up from the screens in front of him, clearing his throat.

Captain Wilson claps, and then encourages the rest of the crew on deck to follow suit in an awkward round of applause. “Wow! Like Shakespeare! Thanks, Ensign, we’ll get you a role in _Teen Klingon_ yet. But for now, _Statesman_ : time to roll out!” 

The world outside turns into a strange haze of what seem to Bruce’s eyes like vertical lines of light streaming past as they move into warp. This must be most of the cadets’ first time seeing it: even though they try to maintain their faltering air of professionalism, other crew members on the bridge peer out of the deck windows, their eyes lit up with the joy of experiencing something completely new for the first time. Bruce is in awe of it. Space has always had that effect on him, hence Starfleet. The light lines of celestial objects streaking by come more info focus, and suddenly the ship zooms into its destination, more suddenly than it left. 

The awe and wonder completely evaporates as Barnes takes the ship on a hard nosedive to avoid a carcass of debris. They’ve flown into a graveyard, Bruce thinks – that is, until he sees the ships and it dawns on him that these are the very same ships that left the cargo hold with the _Statesman_. “Oh, shit,” he says in the chorus of horror. Everybody is jerked back to attention, the sore reality of the situation cracking its whip. 

“Captain,” Natasha says. “Receiving a transmission from the _USS Kirby_.” 

“Patch it through,” Captain Wilson says. Natasha presses a few buttons and switches on her extensive switchboard, filling the deck with the sound of static and faint alarms. Someone on the transmission coughs. 

“Holy shit,” the voice says, and Bruce realises with a wash of relief that it’s none other than the infamous Tony Stark, who may or may not have been Bruce’s favourite drinking buddy and roommate before Shuri. Bruce hasn’t heard from him in a while generally, and the sound of his voice is, for once in either of their lives, sweet music to Bruce’s ears. “Uh – sorry. This is Tony Stark from the _USS Kirby_. We got completely wiped out with the rest of the fleet the minute we warped in – it’s some kind of Kree trap. I’m with the Chief Engineer Shuri Udaku and she’s just fixed our transporter. Requesting permission to beam aboard.” 

“Are the channels open?” Captain Wilson asks. Natasha shakes her head, but taps another button and relays that they are now. “Uh, yeah, don’t worry about transporting yourselves over here because if yours is even slightly damaged you might become toast or evil or trapped in the quantum realm or something. We’ll beam you up.” 

“Copy,” Tony says. 

Somebody pages Beck, and Bruce hurries to the transporter to await their arrival. Once Tony and Shuri have arrived and been given a quick once-over, the ship will resume its course to Skrullos; they’ve little time to waste. He wrings his hands as Beck and Barnes coordinate to bring them up safely: and then Tony and Shuri are there, uniforms a little torn up and smoky but _alive_ and not seriously hurt. Bruce doesn’t know who to hug first. 

Tony saves him making a decision by surging forward and catching Bruce in a long but chaste kiss, the kind that says _holy shit I’m alive and oh boy am I glad to see your dumb face again you absolute legend_ , hands clasped to the sides of Bruce’s face as he stumbles with the sheer ferocity of it. “I never thought I would be _this_ glad to see you,” Tony pants. 

“Me too,” Bruce says. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” He opens out an arm to Shuri, who sinks into his side. He’s often seen her as mature and definitely wise beyond her years, but as she stands there, ashen with the destruction of her ship, he can see so clearly that she’s young and small and scared. He puts a hand on the back of her head. “I’ve got you both.” 

He gives the signal to Captain Wilson to move forward; Tony and Shuri both wave off Bruce’s attempts to patch them up and stand on the deck, watching as Barnes and Parker navigate through the hellscape and storm of destruction. Bruce doesn’t know how to comprehend in his mind the scale of lives lost, of promising young cadets – _gone_ , never to serve out their careers. Or how easily it could’ve been him. Across the deck, Thor has a stony expression on his face. 

The wonder of space is lost when you realise how quickly it can kill you. 

Bruce was told in his training that there are no miracles in space. 

“Cadets,” Captain Wilson says as they move through the cemetery of floating ship parts, “if we all get blown up, then I want you to know it was an honour serving with you. Really! Look at you all, taking control of a whole ship when you’re all about twelve. Teen angst whom?” 

“We’re about to move into open space,” Ensign Parker says. Captain Wilson clicks his tongue, watching the skyline with surprising focus as they move forward, the planet of Skrullos coming into their sight. It’s nothing like _open space_ , really: there’s a massive drill in the atmosphere of Skrullos, powering into the planet’s core. A Kree fleet hovers near it, weaponised, clearly the cause of the destruction; everybody in the deck seems to tense simultaneously, waiting for the attack to open. 

But it doesn’t. 

“Receiving a transmission from the leader of the Kree fleet, Captain,” Natasha says. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Captain Wilson says. “Just put ’em through.” 

A face appears in front of the ship’s display: it’s human or humanoid, a man with a tight expression and a frown. “This is Yon-Rogg of the Kree Imperial Fleet. We demand an in-person audience with the ship’s captain or we _will_ open fire.” 

“What?” Captain Wilson scoffs. “That’s such a load of sh– uh oh, children present, _baloney_. Can we have a two-way so I can tell him to fuck off to his face?” 

Natasha turns back to her console, and pauses, frowning. “No,” she says. “Our communications are blocked. But they were fine when we received the signal from the _USS Kirby_ …”

“The drill,” the science officer says suddenly. “It must be the drill jamming our comms network now that we’re in its radius.” 

“Oh, _come on_ !” Captain Wilson exclaims. “As if I want to just saunter over to the enemy ship where they’ll probably kidnap me and probe my ass! This is so stupid.” Despite his clear objections to the request, he gets up from the seat, sighing loudly. “Alrighty, better my ass than this entire ship, otherwise then we’re _really_ fucked. Thank God I practised with Piotr. Lieutenant Commander Odinson, it’s your lucky day and you get to officially warm that seat for me again. You’re acting captain. Lieutenant Rogers, no more science for you, you’re the first officer now. And I don’t care who’s taking the science position, have your own battle royale for it or just do a rock paper scissors or whatever.” He adjusts his uniform, pulling his sleeves further down and fixing the neck of his top. “Okay, they can kidnap me, but they’re not kidnapping me _and_ drilling a hole into Happy Home Planet over there. That’s just villainy overkill. Uhhhhh – Lieutenants Odinson, Barnes, and Beck, you guys are gonna come in the shuttle with me and I’m going to drop you onto the drill. You disable it, everything’s peachy, day saved for most of us, Frog Mouth or someone from engineering beams you back up to safety. Got it?” 

Bruce has a lot that he wants to say about this plan, and almost all of it begins with _inadequate risk assessment_ and _you’re going to get them killed_. His mind spins, trying to find some reason to abort the plan – or to at least save Thor. Thor can’t die. Bruce knows him. Bruce has kissed him, grinned against his mouth. 

“Who’s Frog Mouth?” the science officer, Rogers, asks. 

“Parker,” Captain Wilson says. “Don’t you think he looks like he’s got a frog in his mouth? And he’s just trying to keep it in there?” 

Parker looks back at them all, absolutely baffled, but Bruce can kinda see it. A breeze hits as Barnes walks past him, startlingly cool and collected when all Bruce wants to do is scream. He watches them go, and then turns back to the quiet deck. Rogers is taking a tentative seat in the captain’s chair, looking as if he doesn’t quite think he belongs there. That, or he’s waiting for someone to burst out and tell him he’s been pranked. 

Natasha puts a hand on Bruce’s arm. “Hey,” she says. “Trust the captain. And trust Thor.” 

“Mm,” Bruce says, unconvinced. “Wait, if the drill is blocking communications in this area, how did the Kree ship hail us?”

“I don’t know the mechanics of it, but they must have some system for bypassing it. They might be using unorthodox transmission channels that Starfleet vessels don’t, or…” Natasha hums. “I don’t know. It must be complicated. They might be using a different method of sending transmissions altogether which could be more complicated than the system at Starfleet.” 

“Do you think we could figure out a way to transmit back to them?” Bruce asks. “Save the journey?” 

“Not any sooner than the time it’ll take for the shuttle to reach the flagship,” Natasha says. “The rescue mission are going to be on radio silence, too.” She stares forward. “They can’t even tell us when to beam them up. We need to tell the captain.”

“No!” Shuri says, and Bruce starts. Natasha stays supernaturally still, just lifting her head to acknowledge the support. Shuri approaches the two of them, taking a good look at the communications console. “I can figure us out a way of bypassing the block. It’ll be easier for short-range transmissions, so we can communicate with the field team in time. I just need space.” 

“You got it,” Natasha says, getting up and smoothing her skirt down. She stretches, and as she walks across the deck, she passes the captain’s chair; Rogers hails her for a moment, leaning in to ask for Shuri’s name. Bruce stifles a laugh, and then has to swallow his very Shuri-flavoured indignation as he answers in Natasha’s place. 

“Shuri Udaku,” he says. “She’s a genius. Certifiable.” 

“Lieutenant Udaku,” Rogers says. “I don’t want you to be the interim science officer. I want you to take over from me.” 

Shuri laughs. “Well, obviously,” she says. 

“She doesn’t mean offence,” Bruce says. Though Rogers looks nothing other than gobsmacked, he says “none taken,” and to Bruce’s surprise, it sounds genuine. 

  
  


The Kree fleet moves into warp the moment that the shuttlecraft docks. The deck can do nothing but watch as their captain disappears, just another twinkle in the distance of the galaxy. They can’t even give chase yet: they have something else to do first. 

All they can hear initially when they patch through transmissions in the sound of gushing wind and fighting. There’s no response to the announcement of their presence, but Shuri swears it had to have gone through. They can do little else but wait.

A minute. Two, three. Five. Seven. 

Then – the crackle of a voice. “ _Statesman_ ,” Thor’s regal tones arrive. “Uh, we lost Chief Engineer Beck. I’m here with Barnes and they’re disabling the drill. It looks like there’s some sort of red matter being held as a payload in the drill, if any of you know what that might be.” 

“Red matter?” Shuri says, her face creasing with thought. “That sounds familiar.” She hums, stepping away from the communications console; Bruce tries to think if he’s heard of any type of red matter before, but nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t think it’s familiar to him. Ensign Parker is watching the screen in front of him like a hawk, two dots representing Thor and Barnes. They’re not moving. Still disabling the drill. 

Space suddenly feels very quiet. Very vast. 

“Oh, shit,” Rogers says, surging forward. “Red matter - they’re going to try and open a black hole in the middle of the planet. We need to get Odinson and Barnes back right now. Has a planetary evacuation been ordered already?” 

Natasha nods, but frowns. “I don’t know if they’ll get away in time,” she says. “There doesn’t seem to be any indication of when the red matter will drop–” 

“There’s a countdown,” Thor says, voice still shaky over the transmission. “The red matter drops in five – _shi–_ ”

The line goes dead. Natasha surges forward, hitting buttons on her console, more aggressive with each failed attempt. “The platform has collapsed,” Parker says. “They’re both in freefall. Do you think disabling the drill was–” 

“It was a planned tactic,” Rogers says, voice low and urgent. “Ensign, can you beam them up from freefall?” 

“Uh, no, but someone can directly from the transporter,” Parker advises. “I can lock onto their targets but we need more power to beam them up if they’re fast-moving. But if they keep going, the rate of acceleration will mean that I can’t–”

“I got it,” Tony interrupts, immediately hurrying off down the corridor. 

“One of them should have a parachute,” Rogers says. “Thor. We wouldn’t send officers onto a high-risk altitude mission like that without one, even if – though – they were in a hurry.” Though he speaks authoritatively, Bruce can hear the hum of nerves in the tones of his voice: it’s the same as the tangible anxiety in the air, an inescapable tension, the feeling of being in way too fucking deep and not knowing whether to laugh or cry or both. (Honestly, Bruce thinks it’s both.) 

Then he realises that he’s not just some sort of casual observer here – this isn’t a simulation, he has a _job_ to do, and so he heads for the med bay and preps the team. It’s a small team, only two other people, but it’s still better than just him. Charlene and Leonard are their names, and Bruce prefers to know them by their first. It reminds him that they’re just ordinary people. 

There’s a moment where it feels as if too much time has passed, like it’s too late for anybody to be saved. 

Then the whole ship rocks on its side. Rogers’s voice sounds over the PA. “We’re currently trying to navigate away from the encroaching black hole,” he says. “There’s going to be some turbulence.”

Thor falls into the medical bay with one of the rougher patches of it, followed behind by someone Bruce doesn’t recognise. She looks spotless, but Thor is bruised, clothes torn and scratched; after both of them is a Skrull. Bruce delegates the mysterious woman to Charlene, the Skrull to Leonard, and starts treating Thor’s wounds. When he finds bruised ribs, he injects ten ccs of terakine, talking Thor through what he’s doing. “And I’m going to apply a salve for the cuts and bruising,” he says. “You can have more terakine in six hours.” He looks up at Thor’s face as he massages a salve into the cuts on Thor’s arms. “Where did they come from?”

“Skrullos,” Thor says. “She’s a Kree turncoat. I heard about her and knew I had to rescue her. She said she wouldn’t come without the Skrull.”

Bruce stops. “So after narrowly surviving death, you beamed down to a planet about to be consumed by an unexplained celestial force?” he asks. Thor shrugs and nods. Bruce doesn’t even know how to respond to that. He sighs. “Just in case you’re thinking that your life is okay to play with, I would care if something happened to you. I would care a lot.” 

“Of course you’d care a lot,” Thor says. “I’m the captain.” It’s a joke, but it bothers Bruce distinctly.

“Thor, I would care if your only job was scrubbing the decks, okay? Let me be nice.” 

There’s a moment, just then, when Thor puts his hand in Bruce’s hair - deep, right into his curls that are definitely overlong and could’ve used a cut _had he known he was about to go on an actual life-or-death mission_ , but suddenly he isn’t thinking about how it needs cut because it’s just the right length for Thor’s fingers to be buried in. Thor smiles. 

“And here they told me that all the doctors were mean,” he says. 

“Only if you deserve it,” Bruce says. “Which you do. For being an idiot. And you shouldn’t be stupid with your life, because it’s worth a lot.” 

  
  


The Skrull that Thor rescued is named Talos, and the Kree turncoat, who’s confused about her identity save that she can remember that she used to be a part of Starfleet, is named Vers. Bruce loosens on telling Thor off, because both of them have vital information: Talos’s is that there are several other Skrull colonies for fear that an attack like this was inevitable, so this is nothing near the end of the Skrull race, and Vers’s is knowledge of Kree bases that the fleet might be retreating to. Barnes, once discharged from the sick bay, sets a course for the nearest one; but even then, it’s quite a journey, and a journey long enough to sleep during, so Bruce sends everybody who’s been off-ship to get some rest. 

“Preferably sleep,” he says, “but if you can’t, then just - sit down and _relax_. No going to the gym or you’ll see me angry, and trust me when I say that you don’t want to see me angry.” 

There are a few crew swapovers, including Tony becoming the new Chief Engineer (the role is initially offered to Rhodey, who laughs and says “God no, I’d like to live”) and crew members taking over for those retiring to their bedrooms, switching into beta shift. Even though Bruce intends to stay up, Rogers has him dismissed to get some rest himself, and Bruce can’t say no to the acting captain. 

Thor is waiting for him in the corridor when he’s dismissed. “I thought we could have dinner together,” he says. “Or breakfast. Do you have any perception of what time it is? Because I don’t.” 

“Call it dinner,” Bruce says. “This feels like the end of the day.” 

Though space food has come leaps and bounds since the inception of space travel, it still has nothing on real food; the replicator always tastes cardboardy and wrong. Bruce finds it hard to eat, between the taste and the knot of anxiety in his stomach. Thor, of course, wolfs it down as if nothing’s happened, and watches as Bruce picks at his own food. 

“Can I have some?” he asks, and, against all of his own sane medical advice, Bruce concedes and lets Thor eat the remaining half of his dinner. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Bruce reflects, as he watches Thor across the table, the way it feels as if they know each other even with the gaps missing. Their relationship thus far has been a series of startlingly intimate trysts, disappointing the galaxy’s smartest nine-year-old, and running into each other all across Starfleet. Bruce has seen the inside of Thor’s room, but never the opposite. They haven’t seen each other naked since before Bruce’s top surgery. But with all of that said, he has feelings that he can’t describe or explain: feelings with a rich depth to them. He’s been waiting for this, he realises. He’s always known that he could turn around when he needed to and Thor would be right there with him. He’s always felt safe with Thor.

And maybe Thor doesn’t feel that strongly, but Bruce decides not to interrogate that thought. 

Especially not right now, because Thor is looking at him intently, and Bruce knows he said to rest, but suddenly he just wants to be touched. He wants it so bad. He wants somebody to hold him; he wants to forget the vastness of space around him, and their lost commander, and the planet that imploded into a black hole right next to them, and the navigation trails to an aggressive fleet that destroyed all of the other Starfleet cadet vessels. He feels young and tired and not ready. He knows he’ll never feel ready, but he doesn’t feel ready to be solely in charge of people’s lives. 

“Thor,” he says. Thor tilts his head upwards, listening. Bruce’s breath shudders. His voice breaks when he talks. “Can you just – hold me?”

“Dinner first,” Thor says, pushing Bruce’s plate at him. “You’ve got to eat.” 

And Bruce feels a warmth build up inside of him, so that suddenly the food doesn’t seem so insufferable after all. 

Thor holds his hand as they walk down the corridor – Thor’s room, again, because it’s a nice touch bigger than Bruce’s. It has an ensuite bathroom, and Thor disappears into it for a moment before emerging with a bottle of lotion and what is definitely a bottle of lube. Bruce supposes that it must be considered a multipurpose object in space, and the thought makes himself laugh, and Thor catches Bruce’s smile in his. 

Bruce strips accordingly, and Thor begins to massage the lotion into his skin, chest first. It smells amazing, like eating marshmallows inside of a candy shop. Thor works it in circles around Bruce’s scars, which have a tendency to remain stubbornly dry. He massages it into Bruce’s elbows, and then his legs, and Bruce is definitely not imagining that Thor is taking particular care of his thighs and the sensitive spots just above the back of his knees. 

“Do you want me to,” Thor asks. Bruce spreads his legs. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, watching as Thor drips the lubricant on his fingers. He presses one inside, then two, and doesn’t need to add any more because Bruce comes quickly, head thrown back and dripping wet. That’s what he gets for being practically celibate, he thinks hazily. His breath comes unevenly, and Thor slides up the bed, putting an alarm around him. 

“You’re special,” Thor murmurs into the back of his neck.

“No,” Bruce says. “I’m just an idiot and so are you.” 

Thor laughs. “Okay, maybe we’re just the same brand of stupid. Operating under the assumption that I am, indeed, stupid, which I would like to refute.” He stretches. “And I pointedly refute that you’re stupid, either, considering you’re a doctor.”

“I’m the idiot for becoming a Starfleet doctor,” Bruce says. “You guys just live for trouble.” 

He manages to get some sleep after that, curled tight into Thor (the bed’s only meant for one). It’s not as much as he really should be getting, but this is an emergency situation. Luckily for both of them, space cereal is actually something of a treat among the raft of space food, actually almost tasting like it, and Thor takes his bowl with him to the bridge. 

“Updates, Lieutenant Rogers?” he asks, interrupting what seems to have been something of a moment between the acting captain and helmsman Barnes. Rogers coughs. 

“Nothing through the night, sir, but Lieutenant Romanoff has picked up a distress signal from a planet up ahead,” he says. “The decision to stop or not would of course be yours. Welcome back.” 

“Mm,” says Thor, swallowing his mouthful of cereal before continuing. “And if I might ask, what would _you_ do, Rogers?” 

“Personally, sir, I believe it’s the duty of Starfleet to stop and help,” Rogers says. Thor nods. 

“I completely agree,” he says. “Ensign Parker – wait, where is he?” Thor gestures with his spoon to the chair, which has been replaced. Its new inhabitant peers over his shoulder and gives Thor a somewhat awkward wave. 

“Uh, he’s gone to rest, Captain,” he says. “I’m stepping in. Ensign Morales from beta shift.” 

“Ah,” Thor says, and then carries on. “Ensign Morales, what can you tell me about the planet?” 

“It’s called Sakaar and it’s a scrap planet with large areas of desert and dried-out lands,” Morales says, his speech stilted and awkward as if he doesn’t quite feel like the professional he is. “The distress signal is coming from just outside its main city and next to one of the junkyards. It could be a ship that’s wiped out there.” 

“Would we have any problems with the locals?” 

“Uh, maybe. They scrap parts from the junkyards and sell them on… and people. I think there’s some kind of gladiator arena that they recruit people for. I’m not sure how advanced their weaponry is, since we don’t know what could be arriving.” Morales winces. “Sorry, Captain.” 

“You’re doing fine, Ensign. I’ll beam down when we’re in range.”

“No,” Bruce interrupts. “I’ll go. You’ve already risked your life enough in the past day.” 

“It’s kind of in the job description,” Thor says with a laugh. “But if you insist, then I won’t stop you. Come on. Let’s go get you ready.” 

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he needs to do to get ready except stick a phaser in his belt, but it turns out that Thor was lying. He takes Bruce by the hand and guides him along the corridors before stepping into the empty recreation room, half-barricading the door behind him with one of the tables. It wouldn’t be hard to break into the room, but Bruce guesses that they’re not about to commit some act of mutiny requiring being barricaded away from the rest of the crew. His guess is right, because Thor taps something into their music player and some old pop music begins to play. Bruce wonders where people even find this stuff. The display reads _Origin of Love_ by an artist called MIKA. There’s no indication of date, but Bruce would guess maybe around the early half of the twenty-first century. 

“I thought we should dance,” Thor says. Bruce looks back at him as if he’s grown two new heads. “Honestly. It helps loosen up, and it’s more fun that stretches.” 

Bruce has to admit that, while having some large logical flaws (stretches will provide much more of the actual stretching effect than dancing), the idea doesn’t seem so bad. He can’t dance, but neither can Thor; and though he can’t pull it off with the same aplomb, it’s not as if Thor is going to give a fuck. He doesn’t care about small things like whether or not Bruce can dance, or whether or not Bruce had had his top surgery; he probably doesn’t even need the crew to sound so formal and professional, as he certainly hasn’t seemed to care about them all being swapped about. 

Bruce _does_ feel loose when he’s getting ready to be beamed down. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Thor says. Bruce grins and rolls his eyes. 

Then Thor kisses his forehead, and Bruce isn’t given the luxury of really thinking about the way that makes his whole stomach flip in a circle, because suddenly he’s in the heat of Sakaar, blocking the sun out of his eyes with his hand. 

It _is_ a junkyard. He seems to be right in the middle of the scrap heap: it’s made up of spectacular piles of things that have come through the several portals in the air, and Bruce has to be careful to avoid becoming victim to things flying through the air. He doesn’t even know if he could pinpoint something like a distressed ship amidst the chaos here – it’s lucky that there’s space enough to move between the scrapheaps, but only just so. He tries to follow the beacon of the distress signal, wondering where in all of this chaos it could be coming from. 

Somewhat annoyingly, he has that 21st century song stuck in his head. 

“Hi,” Thor’s voice says in his ear, as if on cue. “See anything?” 

“Apart from junk?” Bruce asks dryly. “No. I don’t even know if I’m going in the right direction.” 

“Uh, I can confirm you’re going in the right direction,” Morales pipes up. “I’m sorry. The navigator doesn’t particularly show what’s _on_ the planet, just… _where_ you’re supposed to go. If we got closer, I could see more, but if we got closer, we might be at risk of entering the slipstream, and…” 

“It’s okay, ensign,” Bruce says. “I’ll find it.”

“I’m thinking, Banner,” Thor says. “Is it just me, or is calling everybody lieutenant and ensign a real mouthful? There’s all this formality, and really, I don’t understand why. Surely we should be able to shout ‘shit’ when we’re in danger.” 

“Could you not have run this kind of stupid idea by me during dinner?” Bruce asks, rolling his eyes as he continues to work through the scrapyard. The sun beats down on the back of his neck, the high neck of his uniform and the curl of his hair protecting him only from the sunburn and not from the cloying heat. “I mean, okay. You’re right. It’s kind of stupid. I know and respect you all whether I’m calling you by your name or some word that designates you. And are any of us actually lieutenants, or are we just calling ourselves that?” 

“I think those are the titles we’re supposed to have for the roles we have,” Thor muses. “I don’t know how they’re actually given.” 

“I don’t feel like a lieutenant,” Bruce says. “I’m just a doctor.”

“That’s reductive,” Natasha says. “Considering that you literally save people’s lives. There’s no _just_ about it.” 

Bruce realises, suddenly and too late, that Thor has been talking to him to make him feel better about the fact that he’s picking his way through a scrapyard on his own with little protection other than his phaser. He also realises that they’ve broken one of Starfleet’s cardinal rules: as far as possible, planetary excursions should be made in groups, to avoid situations like Bruce becoming surrounded by local scrappers. He didn’t even see them approach until it was too late: there’s a circle of them, a hodgepodge of species in cloaks and assembled garments. If Bruce had the time to focus on it, he’d find them endlessly creative, but he’s busy taking out his phaser and muttering curses under his breath. 

They’re holding fucking _nets_. 

“Don’t,” Bruce says softly, “make me angry.” Under the softness there is pure _threat_ , Bruce letting the malevolence tip into his voice. 

> (This is why he joined Starfleet, really. 
> 
> A teenager when it happened, the entire field engulfed in an explosion; he had sat on the kerb in what they called the walking death phase, only for it to turn out that Bruce would never die. 
> 
> He controls it with injections. Modern medicine is _astounding_. But it was too late by then for so many of his prospects. 
> 
> Starfleet didn’t care. And really, Bruce had been thinking of it before then. The choice wasn’t in a vacuum. 
> 
> The thing is, he still gets angry. And he packs a fucking _punch_ when he gets angry.) 

This only seems to excite his encroaching attackers; Bruce fires a warning phaser shot, and the entire scene descends into chaos. One of the nets is thrown, and he has to drop and roll to avoid it, the rope hitting the ground next to his face; he bounces back onto his feet with a little effort, but still just fast enough to avoid being grabbed. The anger is surging through him now, freely: he snaps one of his attacker’s arms like a biscuit, stunning another with a surprisingly well-aimed phaser blast. 

For whatever reason, and to Bruce’s immense exasperation, this only seems to excite them more. Instead of biting down on that anger, he opens himself to it, lets the rage fester into strength. 

But it’s not enough against sheer numbers: there are so many of them, and enough to get the net over him even while he’s kicking and stomping and breaking ribs. He gets the horrible feeling that those are no ordinary ropes, either, but decides to focus more on struggling than checking if they’re electrified. 

“Hey!” a voice calls. “Get off him!” 

It’s followed by what are distinctively two phaser blasts, and Bruce uses the commotion to try and escape the net, which is sticking ferociously to him, but not as ferociously as he can fight his way back out. He used to be a little ashamed of that feral brutality that existed inside of him, but now he’s busy thanking it that he’s alive. He gets off a few blasts of his own, and realises with a start that his rescuer is actually wearing the tatters of a Starfleet uniform: the insignia is still intact and relatively shiny, considering the condition of everything else. His rescuer beckons to him, and Bruce hurries after him, not keen to end up in another fight. 

“You have _no_ idea how glad I am to see you,” his rescuer enthuses, even though Bruce is fairly sure that it was the opposite way round. “Oh my God, I thought I was going to be here forever. I ejected from the _USS Lee_ when we were under attack by the Black Order, but somehow got dragged through a portal here and no-one’s come by since. Hence why I look like I need a lot of help. I do.” 

“The _USS Lee_ ?” Bruce says. It’s been months since the _USS Lee_ returned, damaged but triumphant under the control of Captain van Dyne. Though the ship had been partially evacuated, some nifty thinking had saved it at the last minute, though they had been unable to retaliate. “The rest of your crew made it home safe a while back.”

“Phew!” the guy says with a whistle. “It was looking pretty bad. I mean, evacuation bad, obviously. I’m so glad they’re okay.” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Scott Lang.” 

“Bruce Banner. _USS Statesman_. We’re, uh… we’re on an emergency mission, actually.” 

Scott frowns, concerned. “Oh, really?” 

“It’s…” Bruce pauses, and shakes his head. “It’s a really long story. We should get back to the ship first. Do you need to get anything?” 

Scott appears to have been living in a not-badly-made shack in the junkyard that also functions as a workshop. It’s even decorated with the more interesting offerings of space tat, and Scott empties a few shelves into a leather satchel before jumping back up to attention. “Okay!” he says. “Please get me off this planet. I hate it so much.” 

“Ready to beam up, Morales,” Bruce says. “There’s two of us.” 

“Aye aye, sir,” Morales says. “Just locking on now – uh, hey, there’s a third signal approaching you guys real fast right about now–” 

Bruce looks up, and is hit head-on by the charging beast, swept so cleanly off his feet that he has a moment of slow motion horrified clarity before he hits the ground. His phaser has clattered from his belt, and he scrambles for it, but the beast makes a bite for his arm. He hasn’t seen it clearly, but it’s built like a large bull with a head that protrudes forth and a jaw reminiscent of a shark’s. Bruce saw the rows of teeth. 

Scott hits it with a phaser blast, but the beast shrugs it off as if it were nothing. “Set it to kill!” Bruce shouts, inadvertently drawing the creature’s attention back to him; and this time he isn’t quick enough, unable to roll his body before the jaws catch him. 

He lets out a low moan, and blacks out before he dies. 

  
  


Bruce’s consciousness returns slowly and incoherently to his body naked in the transporter. _So that’s the limits of Starfleet elastic_ , he thinks in his hysterical daze, feeling hands gripping and grasping at him. His thoughts might be back, but he hasn’t all returned to his body yet, and needs carried through to the medbay. He overhears arguments: Charlene telling Thor that he needs to get out, Thor insisting that he’s the captain and needs to know if Bruce is alright, which one of Charlene and Leonard is going to take care of Bruce. Rogers takes Thor out of the room, and it takes Bruce something like an hour to start to settle back into his body enough to speak and to move. By this time, he’s been dressed, and is sipping on an electrolyte drink. He looks over at Charlene. 

“I want to see Thor,” he says. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she says. “Not because I want to keep you separated. But I think he’s too wound up, and you need a rest.” 

“Do you think he loves me,” Bruce asks, though it doesn’t feel like a question and he doesn’t know why he tries. It’s not like Charlene will know. 

In the distance, where he’s in the middle of shaving off Scott’s straggled beard, Leonard laughs. “I don’t think he knows what to do with his feelings about you,” he says. Scott’s skin is pink and pale underneath, unlike the uneven tanning that covers the rest of him. “I get the feeling that he’s not used to communicating things like this.” 

Bruce looks at Scott, and a thought suddenly occurs to him. “Wait,” he says. “Has anyone told you what’s happening yet?” 

As it rather bizarrely turns out, Wade Wilson is an alumni of the _USS Lee_ ; he was apparently the head of their security crew, and though known for speaking bluntly, was damn good at his job and incredibly efficient on away missions as well as protecting the ship from hostile guests and intruders. “Yeah,” Scott says. “He was really weird, but kinda nice, even if he wouldn’t let on. I can’t believe he got kidnapped.” 

“Everything’s unbelievable right now,” Bruce says. “It feels like a weird dream.”

Charlene and Leonard won’t let Bruce leave, so he has little else to do but settle down and nap for a while; when he wakes, he puts a fresh uniform on and insists that he’s getting back to work. He’s ready to return to the bridge when the med bay doors slide open and Rhodey walks in, an arm around Morales, who Bruce has to say is looking distinctly unwell; Morales stumbles from Rhodey’s grip to throw up in one of the steel buckets intended for that precise purpose, which marks as one of the few times Bruce has ever seen a patient ever be sick in the right place. 

“Okay,” Rhodey says, putting a hand on Morales’s back. “You’re alright. I got you.” 

“What are your other symptoms?” Bruce asks, trying to seem kind even though he has to ask all of the clinical questions. He passes Morales a box of paper towels to wipe his mouth with, to save him using his own hand. 

“It’s my period,” Morales says. “It gets really bad.” 

“This idiot wanted to just stay in his quarters and ride it out,” Rhodey says. “But I told him you’d help.” 

“Your period is vomit-inducing bad?” Bruce asks, concerned. “You need to see somebody about that when you get back. You don’t need to suffer like that. Are you on anything already for the periods?” Morales shakes his head. “Okay.” Finally feeling like a real doctor and being torn between wanting to help and feeling like a child in a lab coat, Bruce rifles through their medical store, grabbing what he needs and printing labels from the computer by the door. “This should all help with the pain and the nausea. The best kept secret of the med bay is that we have hot water bottles. Now, cycle wise, there’s a couple of options. There are both pills and injections for controlling your cycles, or I can hypospray you right now, which completely stops them for the two months.” 

“I wanna help on the ship,” Morales insists. “I wanna stop them for now.”

“Sure,” Bruce says, and hits Morales in the arm so fast he doesn’t even have time to see it coming before he yelps. “All done. Should take a few hours but up to a day for the current problems to subside, so take what I’ve given you and you can lie down here for a bit.” 

“I always thought doctors wouldn’t take this seriously,” Morales says. 

“I had periods for seven years,” Bruce says. “I haven’t forgotten. And I make it my business to take everything seriously, because I don’t get to decide whether or not I think people are lying. I want to help everybody, not decide _who_ to help.” 

“I want a hot water bottle,” Scott pouts. 

“You can have one,” Bruce shrugs. “We have plenty.” He heads through to the supply room and makes one up, narrowly avoiding burning his hands on the boiling water; all this technological innovation in the world, and they still can’t find a way for him to make a hot water bottle without adding another burn scar to his hands. When he steps back through, Morales is lying flat on one of the cots and Rhodey is drinking the rest of Bruce’s electrolytes. 

“So what _did_ happen to you down there?” Morales asks, voice floating up. “You guys totally cut out.” 

Scott flashes Bruce a hesitant look. Bruce had expected him to immediately tattle, because seeing someone turn massive and green is something most people don’t see every day, and he’s impressed that Scott has stayed closed-lipped. Bruce sighs gently, but not with frustration. He just thought that one day he might never have to explain again. 

“I was involved in a gamma radiation experiment,” he says. “There was an accident, and I took the full brunt of a gamma bomb. Well over the lethal amount. And I died.” He looks up to the ceiling, blinks into the neon lights. “But I didn’t. Something happened to me, and now there’s something - some _one_ else living inside me. I call him the Big Guy. He came out when I got angry, or when my heartbeat increased - sometimes if I got too excited or nervous, too. It took a while, but I got him under control with injections; so first I wasn’t as volatile, and then he wouldn’t come out at all if I got angry.” Bruce smiles, a small one. “But he always comes out if I’m going to die.” 

“What the hell?” Scott asks, frowning. At least Bruce has the benefit of Rhodey already knowing this story. Before he had been called upon to room with Shuri, Bruce and Rhodey had been roommates for a year; and even though they don’t often run into each other much anymore, Bruce loves him in a way that means that that doesn’t matter. He could go years without seeing Rhodey and still feel intimately comfortable meeting him again. He’s glad Rhodey knows. It makes him feel less alone when he tells the story. “They’re still doing experiments with that kind of radiation?” 

“It’s banned in most states, but they didn’t ban it in Virginia until after me.” 

“It felt good being protected, though,” Scott says. 

“He isn’t a bad thing,” Bruce says with a shrug. “Maybe when he was uncontrollable, he was, but - at the same time, I just want to be like everybody else. I just want to be a doctor.” 

“I like you as a doctor,” Morales says. 

“I like you,” Rhodey says. Bruce laughs. 

“I like you, too,” he says. 

“Can I join in?” Scott asks. 

  
  


Scott takes over as their Chief Engineer, since he’s automatically the most experienced person on board, and Tony secedes the role, telling Bruce that he actually kinda hated being responsible for _everything_. Morales joins them; he was with Rhodey before taking over as the night shift navigator, apparently, and to them he returns now that Parker is back on duty. Bruce thanks Charlene and Leonard for taking care of him, and heads back to the bridge. 

“Welcome back, Doctor,” Thor says with a wide smile. Oh, what Bruce wouldn’t give to just hug Thor right now. He’s still tired, under it all; but he has to keep going, for Captain Wilson and for all the other ships that were destroyed. “Feeling better?”

“Let’s just say I don’t plan on volunteering myself again anytime soon,” Bruce jokes. Thor laughs, then beckons to Bruce for a moment, ushering him out into the corridor. Thor has changed his hair again since Bruce last saw him, and Bruce wouldn’t be surprised to find out if Thor stress-braided. 

“I read your file,” he says, and Bruce’s stomach immediately turns. He knows that his medical records are freely accessible to Starfleet commanders, but had never actually expected somebody to _read_ it - he’s one of hundreds, after all. And though he knows that Thor must have wanted answers to what had happened on Sakaar, he always prefers to be able to tell the story himself, to see the way that people react in real-time, and not on a delayed filter. “How are you doing?” 

Bruce tries to gauge where his answer should be. “Uh,” he says softly. “I’ve been better, but it doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you wanted to know.” 

“Good,” Thor says. “I just wanted to know that you were okay. I was worried.” He clears his throat. “We all were.” 

Bruce gets the distinct feeling that there’s something Thor’s saying, but honestly, he’s too tired to try and work through the stupid complexities of figuring out how somebody else is feeling. Whatever he guesses will never be accurate, either. That’s the way it is. He just wishes that people spoke their mind, but instead he nods and says, “thank you. Sorry to worry you all. Guess I’m not so cut out for away missions.” 

Thor laughs. “The only people cut out for away missions are people with a death wish,” he says, reaching out and gently brushing some of Bruce’s hair out of his face, only for it to gently fall right back. “And before you ask, I’ll do my best not to die. Coming back to have you all fuss is half the fun.” 

“Good,” Bruce says. “I’d miss you.” 

“We’re coming up on what Vers says is the Kree base,” Thor says. “So you might miss me, if we don’t _all_ die. I can’t see what we could do that would make them acquiesce Captain Wilson and stop trying to goad the Federation and the Skrulls into a war, and we’re one ship against what could be hundreds.” He scoffs. “Maybe I _did_ miss the point of the simulation.” 

“Or maybe you didn’t,” Bruce says thoughtfully. “Because what we did was think _around_ the problem instead of accepting doom. And that’s what we need to do here. We need to ask Vers what she knows about the Kree base and about their ships and where they store them. If there’s a way for us to take them all – or almost all out at once, for example…”

Thor calls Vers and Talos up to the bridge – and, as it turns out, Bruce wasn’t wrong. Vers recalls ammunition storage at a warehouse near their ship hangar, and blowing it up could wipe out damn near the whole fleet. 

“But a ship the size of the _Statesman_ won’t be able to get that close to the Kree home planet,” Barnes points out, swivelling their chair around. Their hair is half-pulled into a bun, flyaway strands escaping; Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever seen them take a break. “We’ll have to deploy a shuttle. Someone’s going to have to pilot it, and…” 

“They probably won’t survive the explosion,” Rogers finishes for them. “Captain, I want to do it.”

“Don’t be a hero, Steve,” Barnes snaps, their cold front suddenly shattering in two. “We need you here.” Bruce can see them panicking beneath the surface in the same way that he’s beginning to panic that people are going to die. It doesn’t often seem real, but right now it does, morbidly so. 

“Barnes,” Natasha says, warningly. “He can go if he wants to. Captain?” 

“If he can fly,” Thor says, “then it’s his prerogative.” He gestures to the corridor. “You two can talk about it.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Barnes says sharply. “I’m going. I can fly. You know I can fly.” 

“We need you to fly _this_ ship,” Thor says softly. Barnes looks back at Thor, and then nods, taking Rogers’s hand as they slip out into the corridor. Bruce realises that he hadn’t been breathing on behalf of them, and inhales deeply; it draws Thor’s attention, and Bruce quickly fills the air with the pronouncement that he was expected to deliver. 

“Lovers’ quarrels feel different when one of you might die,” he says, and Thor’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly as he looks back, parsing through Bruce’s words. He puts a hand on Bruce’s arm, and escorts him out of the other door and into the parallel corridor. It feels like everyone is listening anyway. 

“You love me?” Thor asks as if he’s baffled by that. But of fucking _course_ Bruce loves him. He’s trouble but he’s trouble with the sweetest smile and the brightest eyes, full of smarts and wisdom and courage. He’s electric. Bruce falls in love with Thor over and over again, every time he sees him, the strong lines of Thor’s jaw and the wisps of his hair around his braids. His stubble. The way he frowns when he’s focusing. And then there’s the way Thor looks at him, and has always looked at him, as if Bruce was someone worthy of something; and the way Thor had fucked him, because Bruce can’t pretend that didn’t make him dizzy with feelings. How could he not be in love? He makes himself sick with it sometimes. 

All of this he has to communicate to Thor in a single “yes”, and in the telling his voice cracks. 

Thor holds his face. Bruce waits for the worst. 

Instead, Thor crosses the threshold and kisses him. 

“You’re my kind of crazy,” Thor breathes. Bruce can’t suppress the grin that splits his face, and he looks down as he follows with a “shut up”. Thor takes his hands, running his thumbs over Bruce’s knuckles. “I can’t make any promises.” 

“You don’t have to,” Bruce says. “I just wanted you to know that I – you make me feel safe.” 

“Bruce,” Thor says in what’s almost a moan. 

Rogers wins the fight. 

  
  


On the edge of Kree space, Rogers deploys in the shuttle. They watch the twinkle of his vessel disappear into the stars. There’s a lump in Bruce’s throat as he watches, listening to the regular and steady updates coming through their comms link. Natasha is also keeping an eye on Kree communications; because if Rogers is spotted, then it could be game over. The _Statesman_ teeters just on the edge of Kree space – close enough to hear, which means they’re almost close enough to be seen. 

Their only shot is _improperly stored ammunition_. What if it doesn’t even go off? 

Everything could go wrong. This isn’t even accounting for the fact that Thor will need to negotiate for the return of Captain Wilson. Scott Lang is on the bridge with them, still slick with a layer of sweat from fitting the shuttle with multiple forms of weaponry in case any of the others don’t work. He’s biting his nails, even though most are down to the quick already. Parker is keeping them updated on Rogers’s location, a speck on his screen. “He’s getting close to the ammunitions warehouse, Captain,” he says. 

“Come on, Steve,” Barnes mutters. 

Bruce reaches out and takes Thor’s hand. Thor looks down, then brings it to his mouth, holding it tight. From the outside, he looks careful and calm, but Bruce can feel the pressure. He feels it himself, his heart thumping against his chest. 

“About to shoot, Captain,” Rogers says over the comms. “If I don’t see you all again, then this has been a pleasure.” 

“ _Vi er med deg_ ,” Thor says. 

Nobody breathes for a minute, and then they see the first of it: a spark of red, orange, the first _bang_ ; and then it comes all at once, massive plumes of fire, the shaking of the surface of the planet as the fire tears through the munitions warehouse. “Shit,” Bruce says. It’s big. They’ve most certainly wiped out most of the Kree fleet, if not all, but Rogers- 

“Mayday,” Rogers says, voice coming through in sharp breaths. “Mayday. Sustained damage to the rear of the shuttle, I don’t know if I’m going to make it, it’s pretty burned-” 

“Barnes, enter Kree airspace,” Thor says. “We’re going to meet Rogers halfway.” 

“They could still fire on us, sir,” Barnes says, even though Bruce can tell it hurts to admit it. There’s a moment in the air where everything is still balanced: danger, safety, the infinite vastness of space, the feeling of Bruce’s fingers laced in Thor’s. 

“Enter Kree airspace,” he repeats. “We’re going to get him.” 

Rogers’s shuttle is nothing compared to the size of the _Statesman_ and hard to see in the great big nothingness; but Parker is belting out coordinates and Barnes dips the ship, hard. Bruce’s stomach dips like they’re on the crest of a rollercoaster as the whole ship tips, and Thor’s hand lets go of his to instead wrap around his shoulders and keep him on his feet as they stumble. Stars blitz into straight lines then stutter and blitz again as Barnes hits their acceleration, catapulting them towards the Kree planet and towards the smidge that is the shuttle. 

“I see him, I see him,” Parker says. “He’s coming in.” 

“He’s about to dock,” Barnes says. “Captain-” 

Thor is already communicating with the entire ship. “Rogers is docking. I need engineering at the port and at the transporter, stat. Medbay, prepare for serious injuries.” He switches the link off, and kisses Bruce’s forehead, hard. “ _Jeg er med deg_. Go.” 

Bruce takes off sprinting down the corridors, Starfleet issue boots hitting hard against the floor. He tries not to slip as he skids to a halt by the transporter, where Rhodey is in the middle of punching in coordinates. For the Kree base, presumably, if Thor has to leave. “Hey,” Bruce says, out of breath already, considering he started with barely enough. “Watch out for him. Please.” 

“I got him,” Rhodey says. “ _Go_.” 

The port is further down-ship, requiring a twitchy elevator ride and more running. Bruce is completely out of breath by the time he arrives there; Morales and some other engineers are trying to put out fires and control the mechanical failures in the rear of the shuttle, and Rogers is sitting against one of the walls, breathing heavily. He’s burned, but by the looks of him, likely not seriously injured. 

“Come on,” Bruce says, and the relief in seeing that Rogers is okay is immense. He’s so short and scrawny that Bruce had worried, because half the time it feels as if Rogers is going to just keel over anyway; but both of them make it to the medbay alright, and Rogers shows up perfectly fine on the scan, though he has to take a few puffs of his inhaler. 

“Where’s Bucky?” he asks. “I want to see them.” 

“They’re still working on the bridge,” Bruce says. “But I’ll tell them you’re okay.” He reaches out and jabs the button for communications link with the bridge. “Bridge, this is Doctor Banner. I’m happy to report that Lieutenant Rogers is going to be fine.” He gives it a moment, and what follows is a series of excitement whoops and applause. Bruce grins. “I think they’re happy. Barnes is going to be glad to see you later on the next shift.” 

Rogers smiles as he rests back on the bed. He doesn’t rest for long, however, because Bruce slams a hypo into his neck, and Bruce is still waiting for his own closure. 

  
  


Bruce isn’t allowed to leave the medbay: he needs to be prepared for any new arrivals, and he’s still predisposed with treating Rogers’s burns. Morales arrives with his own, from when part of the shuttle decided to explode on him, and Leonard takes care of him after Bruce chews him out and tells him to take better care of himself. It feels wrong at a time like this, but Bruce doesn’t know what else to do as he waits. Thor could be dead. Everything could be over. They could all die, and all of this would be for nothing. 

And then the ship’s comms light up. 

“Oh my God! Can you believe it? It’s me!” comes the unforgettable voice of Captain Wade Wilson. Bruce feels the weight lift off his shoulders, because he knows even without saying that Thor is okay. “Hi, everybody! Since you all did a phenomenal job at blowing up the Kree armoury _and_ fleet, Lieutenant Commander Odinson here managed to negotiate my release pretty easily, _and_ the Kree will soon have the whole rest of the Federation to answer to. So it’s time to head back home. Well done to all of you absolute teeny bopping _legends_. We’re going to go into beta shift early, so if beta shift could come to the bridge now, please. Alpha shift will resume in approximately twelve hours.” 

“I’ll sign you off from beta shift,” Bruce says to Morales. “We’ll get someone else to cover.” 

And that’s the last thing he does before signing off and waiting outside the medbay for Thor, who crashes into him and kisses him hard. Bruce grins into his mouth. 

“When we get back to Earth,” Thor says, hands resting on Bruce’s flushed cheeks, “I’d very much like to take you out on a date.” 

“Good,” Bruce says. “It’s about time.” 

Bruce has barely shut the door to Thor’s room behind him when Thor drops to his knees, helping Bruce out of his clothes for only a few moments before taking Bruce in his mouth. Bruce makes a satisfied noise, and finds himself surprised when Thor leans back for a moment. 

But as it turns out, it’s only to ask Bruce if he could face fuck him, and Bruce flushes everywhere just hearing words that obscene come out of Thor’s polished accent. He tangles a hand in Thor’s hair and shoves his face back where it was, and though he can’t help but feel awkward and mean and as if he really wants to apologise for that, he’s snapped out of his fears by Thor’s soft noise of arousal. Thor is clearly taking no time, because there are fingers in Bruce as soon as he’s wet enough (including a quick pause for lube) and they’re curling into all of the places that feel good as if Thor has memorised them all already. 

(Holy shit, maybe he _has_.) 

Bruce tightens his grip on Thor and pushes him a little in a better direction. It takes all of his effort to keep himself standing, but when the floodgates burst and the feeling of Thor desperately eating him out is too much, he both collapses and clamps down, and Thor laughs as he has to catch Bruce and lift him into bed. 

“That good?” he asks, running his fingers over Bruce’s nipples. 

“I love it when you do that,” Bruce admits, not sure whether he feels confident or bashful, torn between the way he knows he could say anything to Thor and the anxieties of his own inexperience. “I want you inside me now.” 

Thor drops his hand to idly rub Bruce as he laughs and kisses him, finishing the job of stripping himself. Bruce swears as Thor presses himself inside, slowly and steadily filling him up with heat. 

“Thor,” he breathes. 

Thor fucks _good_. Bruce can barely feel his limbs as he stands in the refresher, and he collapses back into bed immediately after, finding the smell of himself and Thor and sex on the sheets. Thor follows several minutes later, pulling Bruce close and grinning. 

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he hums into Bruce’s skin. 

“I could say the same for you,” Bruce says with a smile, winding his fingers with Thor’s, and he would get closer; but really, he can’t stay awake, and nods off in a pleasant slumber just moments later, the weight of the world finally lifted from his shoulders. 

  
  


**epilogue**

Lunella Lafayette actually commends Thor and Bruce on their application of their own cheating techniques to real life, and the mark on both their records for cheating the Kobayashi Maru is struck. Personally, Bruce finds this his greatest achievement, decorations aside. 

There’s something strange about being back on the ground at the Academy. Bruce misses looking out of the window and seeing the cape of stars. When all of the first day’s meetings are over and it’s dark out, he gets a beer and lies on his back on the quad, staring up at Earth’s static sky and pinpointing the constellations he recognises. On his way here, he saw Scott Lang and Wade Wilson at the bar together, heads tucked in like they were sharing a secret. 

“Are you having a breakdown?” Rhodey asks as he appears over Bruce. Bruce snorts. 

“No,” he says. “I just missed the views.” 

“There are no views down in engineering,” Rhodey sighs as he sits down, picking at the blades of grass. “I’m starting to get why all the lecturers call stuff like the warp drives beautiful. It’s literally all you see down there.” He pauses. “But I would do it again anyway.” 

Bruce laughs. “I didn’t like the mortal peril,” he says. “I could go for something easier next time.” 

He reaches out and takes Rhodey’s hand. It’s been a long time since they last did this: just sit and talk, their hands clasped between them. In fact, before the emergency, it had been a long time since Bruce had spent time with anyone. He had always claimed to be too busy, but he can’t remember how much of that was true. 

Hours later, when the rain begins and they can’t stay in the grass any longer, he finds himself walking across campus. When the door opens, he steps into Thor’s arms, and Thor strokes through his damp hair and laughs. 

  
  


When Bruce graduates, he finds himself once again ordered to the _USS Statesman_. He’s oddly glad to see her again, even if he misses some of his crew; they couldn’t fill the whole ship with graduates, after all. 

On the first night of their mission, still buzzing with the nerves of knowing that this is going to be years in space, Bruce heads up to the observation deck. It’s nice to have the time to be there. He’s no longer chief medical, and is just a nurse, and this early into the mission thankfully nobody’s so much as scratched themselves, so he was dismissed early. 

There’s someone already sitting on the bench, watching the stars float by. Bruce knows who it is before he even turns around: he recognises the braids, and the lay of his shoulders, and Bruce never even had the time to say goodbye before his assignment but had had the strangest feeling it would all work out. 

Thor turns around, and beams at him, patting the space beside him. “Are you coming?” he asks. 

**Author's Note:**

> i would kinda love to write a sequel where they're Official Captains and exploring space together ... would ppl like to see that?? let me know if u would!! otherwise, hope u enjoyed !!!
> 
> also, don't judge thor's norwegian. mainly because i used google translate


End file.
